Something to Stay For
by perforated sphere
Summary: Manhattan, 1911. Jack hadn't intended on staying in New York, but his plans changed when he found himself in charge of the late Kloppman's orphaned granddaughter. Now, Kit Malloy is 16 years old, a little too curious, and about to make a very big mistake.
1. Prologue

_Author's note that will probably not matter to anyone: I'm starting this now because my other work in progress, Wine From Your Tears, is on hold - I lost an entire chapter when my computer was being stupid, and trying to rewrite it right now really doesn't seem like it'd be fun. So, we have this, my new and much less crazy story.

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_April, 1903_

It was raining, and Jack's bags were packed. He'd been twenty-one for all of a week now, and his timing couldn't be more right to finally leave for Santa Fe. He once said that he had nothing left to stay in Manhattan for, and he had been wrong. This time it was true - or so he thought until he heard quick footsteps on the stairs and a hard knocking on his door. "Yeah, what is it?" he said carelessly as he opened the door, without even looking to see who was there. Standing before him was one of the lodging house's younger boys, whose name Jack didn't even know. He had stopped bothering to try to learn their names around the time he turned eighteen; considered too old by most to continue being a newsie, he began renting out the apartment in the basement of the lodging house (a favor from Kloppman, who would have let him live there just to keep him around the place).

"Um, excuse me, uh, I was told to come get you - " the skittish boy stammered, too nervous to look up at Jack. It wasn't an uncommon reaction from the younger boys, who had all heard tales of the great Jack Kelly, leader of the unprecedented strike four years earlier.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, yeah, out with it. I got places to be, kid." He walked to his bed, taking a bag from it and slinging it over his shoulder as he spoke.

The boy gulped loudly. "It's Mister Kloppman. He's lyin' on the floor and he won't get up."

"Christ." Without another word, Jack dropped the bag and nearly sprinted up the stairs.

Kloppman's funeral was the next day, the rain had not yet stopped, and Jack was still in New York. The old man, it seemed, had taken a particular liking to Jack, and had left specific instructions in his will that Jack be the one to take his place in charge of the lodging house, as well as live in the basement apartment for free, and was given one-fourth of all money Kloppman had.

The only other person in Kloppman's will was the eight year old girl standing at Jack's side, whom Jack didn't even know existed until that morning. Katherine Malloy was Kloppman's orphaned granddaughter, and his only remaining family member, who was now left with no family herself. She was entitled to the other three-fourths of Kloppman's estate as soon as she came of age, and Kloppman had specified what he had intended to happen for the girl in the event of his death: Jack Kelly was to keep her as his ward.

Neither of them really knew what to do with each other, as they watched Kloppman's coffin be lowered into a six foot deep hole in the ground. Jack almost couldn't stand to look at the girl who was now his responsibility, the slight little thing who, in the rain falling from the slate-colored sky, seemed to consist only of her curly red hair. But her big eyes turned up to the tall young man whose large hand she clung to, perhaps hoping for some answers, although she recieved none. When Jack finally did glance down at her and met her gaze, he felt as bewildered as he was sure the child did. The girl's lips were parted slightly, silently questioning all that was happening, and in a rare moment of sympathy, Jack took her by her waist and swung her up into his arms. "It's alright, kid," he whispered in her ear. "I gotcha."


	2. Chapter One

_**Author's Note/Disclaimer:** I do not own Newsies, nor do I own Jack Kelly, the Jacobses, and various other film characters that will be mentioned in this. Kit and Deuce are mine, as are other original characters that will be appearing shortly. Any similarities to any people or other characters is entirely coincidental._

_Also, since I first wrote the prologue and summary for this, I've written about two-thirds of the story, and it's taken an entirely different direction than I intended it to. So the summary will be edited, probably by the time this is read. This particular chapter is a whole lot longer than I planned, and it was originally somewhat shorter, but I had to rearrange some things to keep it on track with what is now going to happen. And that's all I've got._

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* * *

_

_November, 1911_

Kit Malloy absolutely despised being woken up at practically the crack of dawn by thundering feet overhead every morning. Once, just once, she would have loved to be able to sleep in, but the habits of young boys are not easily changeable, as Jack, her guardian, had told her numerous times. And then followed the story that she had heard so many times that she could retell it herself, in a perfect mimicry of Jack: 'When I was your age, I had to get up that early every morning and work, just to be able to get enough money to eat and sleep with a roof over my head. You should consider yourself lucky.' Sometimes he would laugh, startled and amused by how fatherly he sounded, and other times Kit would know he was completely sincere. He was strange like that sometimes.

Although not completely awake yet, Kit struggled to get dressed as fast as she could - a difficult task for the clumsy girl, who seemed to fall more than she made progress. If she was ready quickly enough, sometimes she could make it out to the Distribution Center without being seen by Jack, who forbade her to sell newspapers (another part of his ongoing quest to have her teenage years be nothing like his). It looked like she was going to succeed this morning - she was through the lobby, and still no sign of Jack - but was stopped just as she reached the door frame. "Kit," said Jack, calling from the top of the stairs, "Where are you going?"

Normally, when caught, she would lie, say 'nothing,' and if she was really lucky, would still be able to go out. But that morning she was so caught off guard that an excuse didn't cross her mind; instead, she silently pivoted, and, slightly disheartened, descended the stairs. Jack must have sensed her disappointment, for, as he followed her down the steps, he said, "I'll make breakfast," in a coercing tone that no woman - save one - had ever been able to resist (Jack was proud of that).

Kit grinned. "So, how'd you sleep?" she asked, while he walked to their 'kitchen,' which was really just a corner of their one-room basement apartment.

"On me back -" he began, a reflex that made him freeze.

It was a side of Jack that Kit rarely saw but that she was not entirely unfamiliar with, one that was suddenly despondent and almost in a different world. He had never much liked giving details about his past; he would talk about a few of his friends and sometimes where they were now, but Kit knew nothing about Jack's life before he became a newsie, or what happened to him in the years after the strike. "Uncle Jack, you're burning the toast," she noted - a strong smell had filled the small room in his momentary lapse of attention. He mumbled an apology and put the burnt toast in the trash can, then got two fresh pieces of bread to begin again.

"It ain't right of me to keep you home like this," he said, in his typical subject-changing manner, though his voice sounded flat and sad. "I wish you'd go to school." She didn't reply.

He had tried to make her go to school once, two years earlier. She had protested for days; when she finally relented, she instead went to the Distribution Center with the boys, and got arrested after stealing a piece of fruit on a dare. Jack was furious when he had to come bail her out of jail, more than she thought he should have been, but her argument - "You didn't go to school, and you're just fine" - was persuasive enough that he conceded to let her stay home from then on.

Neither of them spoke while eating. Jack still seemed a bit shaken up by what he had started to say, though Kit had no idea what was so upsetting about it. The silence made the small meal feel as if it were twice as long, and just as soon as they were both finished, Kit said a quick 'thank you' and brought their dishes to the sink. With a sigh, she sat on her bed and picked up the ball of yarn on the floor behind her. She wasn't very fond of knitting, nor was she very good at it - probably on account of the fact that she had taught herself how to do it, with much frustration and many tangles - but she had grown since the previous winter, and the gloves and scarf she could make herself served her purpose just fine (and were much cheaper). And it was an easy way to pass time, which she had a lot of.

She had stumbled her way through a clumsy, awkward glove finger when the nearby church bells rang twelve noon, and still silent, Jack hurried up the stairs to get the mail. Why he had been so anxious to get bills or even nothing the past few days, Kit had no idea, but she found out just seconds later when Jack eagerly tore open a letter. It seemed that this was what he had been waiting for, and she put down her knitting so she could attempt to read over his shoulder. But Jack had put down the letter by the time she stood over him, and turned around to face her, smiling. "You remember hearing about my old buddy Dave?" he asked. She nodded. "He just got out of med school in Massachusetts, and he's finally come back to New York. Wants me to meet him and his little brother for dinner at Tibby's tonight. You wanna come?"

Kit grinned. "Of course," she said. Meeting friends of Jack's might give her an opportunity to find out more about him, and she was becoming increasingly curious lately. "I'll make lunch, then."

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_

Looking pretty was not something Kit usually cared much about; since most of what she did was just sitting around the apartment, or running simple errands in the city, she found trying to look nice a waste of her time. But this dinner was important to Jack, and that, to her, was cause enough to dress nicely. Her curly hair was thoroughly brushed (a rare occurrence in and of itself), and she wore a plain cotton shift that had never fit her properly - it was too big when she bought it, and now it was a bit too tight around the chest. Nevertheless, it was the nicest dress she owned, and therefore she thought it would be best to wear. Jack wasn't dressed any different than he typically was, but he wore an aged suit jacket that looked like it was nearly as old as he was. The first time she saw him wear it, he told her the story of the Newsies' rally, and that he'd worn it that night. That story, like most of the ones she knew, had holes in it. She hated that she had never gotten so curious about him before; the way she saw it, if she had shown an interest earlier, he might have told her something else.

"You ready?" Jack asked. He looked more himself than he had earlier, and she liked that. But she had something else to do.

"I'm gonna go upstairs for a minute first, okay?" He nodded his approval, and up the steps she darted.

It was late enough that more than a few of the boys had returned already; she knew that from the hour Jack spent in the lobby before coming downstairs to get ready for dinner. And knowing Jack, he had probably paid one of the boys to keep the post by the door until he returned. Who she found between floors, not very surprisingly, was Deuce.

Deuce was the newsie Kit was closest to - if asked, she would consider him her best friend - and Manhattan's second in command. The two had practically grown up together, as he had come to the lodging house only a few months before Kit was placed under Jack's care. Jack had taken a liking to the boy almost immediately and seemed to have come to trust him more than most of the other boys; he hadn't said so, but it was mostly because Deuce was, in many ways, like David was in the days of the strike (his gentler nature probably being the reason why he was not the leader).

"Hey, Deuce," she said with a smile.

He seemed not even to recognize her when he looked at her. "_Kit_?" he said incredulously - although he knew it had to be her, no one else would be coming from the basement, she looked different than he had ever seen her.

She punched him playfully in the arm. "Of course it's me, stupid," she teased, pretending to be offended; she knew there was no way that he would actually think she was upset.

"No, I know, it's just that..." he stammered. "I've never seen you look so..."

"What, ridiculous?"

"Yeah," he said, after a long - nearly awkward - pause.

She smiled, then suddenly remembered why she had come upstairs in the first place. "Listen, Deuce, tell the boys I can't make the poker tournament tonight." Had she been looking him in the eyes, she would have seen him become slightly disappointed, as hard as he tried to hide it. "Uncle Jack's invited out to dinner with some old friends or something and he wants me to come."

"And that's why you're wearing a dress."

"That's why I'm wearing a dress." They both laughed. He knew better than most people, except maybe Jack, that while Kit was basically unable to object to wearing skirts, dresses were not things she enjoyed wearing. Saying nothing, they stood together a moment, before she blurted out, "I better go, Uncle Jack's waiting."

"I..._We'll_ miss you tonight."

"You better."

* * *

"What was that all about?" Jack asked her as soon as they were out of the lodging house. They could both barely speak - although it was only November, it was frigid outside, and despite their best efforts to keep warm, they were still unable to avoid the weather.

"Nothing, really," Kit said, rubbing her arms as fiercely as if she were trying to keep them attached to her body. "Just had to tell Deuce something."

Jack smiled. "He's a nice boy," he said.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is."


	3. Chapter Two

Tibby's was unusually crowded, though not unexpectedly, on account of the fact that the temperature was steadily dropping as the sun continued to set, and even a busy restaurant was a welcome refuge from the cold. Nevertheless, the number of people inside the small establishment was surprising to the two men who walked in, appearing to be out-of-towners by their looks, clean, well-dressed (or, at least the first was, the elder of the two, in a long black overcoat and fedora-style hat), and obviously well-moneyed. The younger seemed not quite as distinguished as the older, though it was understandable by the age that showed in his face, still clean-shaven - there was no way he could have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three. He looked apathetic, bored even, as he looked lethargically around the tightly packed room, although he was fingering something rather inconspicuously in his pocket. The other one, the elder, took off his hat so he could scan the crowd of people more easily, making it clear that he was more invested in finding who they were looking for. "Where is he?" the man muttered, almost irritably. He almost instantly received his answer as the door opened, letting in a gust of cold wind that caused several people to complain.

The two who entered seemed to be an unlikely pair. One was a man, who looked about thirty, still handsome yet with something tired in his face; on his arm, a pretty, if gangly, girl no older than eighteen. But the two were talking and laughing, and from across the room, the man still holding his hat caught sight of exactly who he wanted to see. Taking the second man by the arm, he worked his way through the crowd, ending in front of the pair who had just entered and were now leaning against the wall. "Jack Kelly?" he asked incredulously, to which the other man nodded, and then did a double take.

"Davey?" Jack exclaimed. David laughed at the use of his childhood nickname and hugged his old friend. It took a few moments for Jack to realize that the younger man standing a step behind David was an old friend, too. "And _Les_?"

Les Jacobs grinned. "Cowboy."

"Nobody's called me that in years, kid."

Kit was just beginning to feel out of place when the attention was finally drawn to her. "So, who's the girl, Jack? A little young for you, ain't she?" Les teased.

The girl turned a soft shade of pink and Jack rolled his eyes. "You boys ever meet Kloppman, old guy who ran the lodging house back in the days of the strike?" They nodded. "He died eight years or so back, left me his granddaughter to take care of. David and Les, this is Katherine Malloy."

"Kit," she corrected quickly.

Jack laughed. "So, it's Doctor Jacobs now, huh?" he asked, as they were brought to a table.

"Yup." David smiled across the table at Jack. "And I'm back for good now; I got a job at the hospital a few blocks down."

The conversation through dinner stayed mostly the same, just old friends reminiscing - Jack talking about the current newsies, David telling stories from his internship at the hospital in Massachusetts, Les adding appropriate, often sarcastic, comments when necessary. Kit was completely unsure as to why Jack even asked her to come. She had nothing to contribute to the continuing dialogue, nor did she know enough about Jack to make jokes about him, like Les did about David. But when finally the plates were cleared and the waiter brought them each a coffee - "My treat," David insisted - Jack stood up. "I'm gonna go outside for a smoke. Come with?" He gestured to David, who seemed to sense that Jack's intention was not just to smoke a cigarette in the frigid weather, and so he put his hat on his head, his coat on, and followed his friend outside.

"You don't smoke?" Kit asked Les, as soon as Jack and David were out the door.

"Sure I do," Les replied without looking at her. He seemed to be preoccupied, which was confusing to Kit until she realized that Les's coffee mug was no longer on the table, but beneath it in his lap; he had removed a silver flask from his pocket and was pouring some of its contents into the coffee. She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing a little.

"So why ain't you out smoking with them, then?"

He sighed and sipped the now-spiked coffee. "You don't get it, do you? I was nine years old when Jack first met me. And he doesn't see me any differently now. To him, I'm still that dumb little kid I used to be, who worshipped the ground he stepped on. He knows full well I would've done anything back then to be just like him."

"But you're not."

He smiled. "But I'm not."

"So, can I ask you a question then?"

"Shoot."

"Can I have a cigarette?"

Les looked at her strangely. "Why don't you just ask Jack when he gets back in?"

"Uncle Jack doesn't let me smoke."

He snorted, tempted to make a witty comment about her name for Jack, but decided against it. "You smoke anyway, though?"

"Yeah." Les handed her a cigarette across the table and she pocketed it for later.

"You do a lot of things you ain't supposed to, kid?"

"Some." She paused. "But that can't be all that bad, 'cause from what I know, you ain't supposed to be putting liquor in your coffee."

A smile began to form on Les's face as Kit smirked. "Not like there's a grownup telling me not to." Her grin faded, and his smile widened. "I'm surprised you don't do a lot more listening to your _Uncle Jack_." She scowled at his mocking. "When I was a kid, he wasn't someone you wanted to cross."

"It ain't like he ever tells me anything!" She half-shouted; had her voice been any louder, she would have drawn attention from other tables. His eyebrows raised, so she calmed herself before continuing. "I've lived with him for eight years, and all he's told me is what I could've heard from any newsie in the damn city."

"And this is the part where you ask me to tell you what you don't know, isn't it?" he said, more of a statement than a question. The look on her face told him that the answer was obvious. He sighed. "I wish I could help you, kid. But I couldn't do that to him." She looked part-crushed, part like a typical sullen teenage girl. He liked the pout on her face - it gave him an idea. "Here's the deal. You come see me tomorrow - the address is on the letter my brother sent Jack - and we'll work something out. Sound good?"

She agreed without a second thought.

---

"You never told me about the girl, Jack."

Jack looked startled for a second, nearly burning his finger with the match as he lit his cigarette. "Huh? Oh, Kit." He took a long drag, then offered David one - but David had already lit his own. "Well, I got her just a little after you left. It wasn't important. Besides, you didn't tell me that Les was still living with you."

David heaved a deep sigh. "He didn't, for a while. But he got in some bad trouble: gambling debts, keeping company with the wrong people, you know. The last thing Mama asked me before she died was to take care of him, and so...I guess that's what I'm doing."

"How's Sarah?"

It was a question David had seen coming, but even after these eight years, the tone of Jack's voice when he spoke of her was hard for him to hear. "Sarah's...good. She's happy. She and Andrew just had their third child, you know."

The words were like a knife to the stomach. Jack had not known, not even that the two had any children at all. "Wow," was all he could choke out, his voice sounding hoarse. "Three, huh?" He was so distracted that he did not notice his cigarette had burned almost down to a stub.

"C'mon, let's go back in," David said as gently as he could. "It's getting late, and I do start work tomorrow."

"Dave?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"I'm glad you're home."

David smiled, and - somewhat awkwardly - hugged his friend. "Me too."


End file.
